Читать книгу Passionate Magic - Dawn Addonizio - Страница 8

Violet awoke with a groan, wondering why the sun had crawled down from the sky to beam directly into her bedroom window. She must have forgotten to close the blinds before going to sleep last night. That was odd. Usually the possibility of someone skulking outside the window, watching her sleep, would keep her awake until she got up to shut them.

She made a vexed sound and rolled off the mattress, shading her eyes with one hand as she staggered across the rug to the window. She twisted the blinds closed and drew the layered muslin curtains, sighing with relief at the resulting darkness. A dull ache was beginning to form behind her temples, and all she wanted was to dissolve back into sleep. She turned and stumbled forward to collapse on her pillow, and froze.

Doyle’s sleeping form was partially tucked beneath the covers on the opposite side of her parents’ king-sized bed. The thick comforter was pushed down around his waist to reveal the tanned, muscular contours of his chest. One arm was thrown carelessly over his head and his lips were slightly parted to take in deep, even breaths. She stared at him as the night’s events came crashing back.

She was such an idiot. She’d been sucking down those mojitos like they were water. And she couldn’t remember a thing after her vague recollection of saying goodnight to Melody and Manny. She glanced down and her head started to pound in earnest. She wasn’t wearing anything except for her lacy white bra and panties.

She blinked at Doyle in trepidation, wondering what she would find if she pulled the covers just a little lower. She couldn’t have…he wouldn’t have…oh, crap. She needed an aspirin. She lurched toward the bathroom to pull on her robe, cinching the soft, over-washed fabric tightly around her waist. Then she dug some pills out of the medicine cabinet, and shuffled off to the kitchen for a glass of water.

She was sitting at the mosaic-tiled table in the nook by the west-facing box window, pressing a cool waterglass to her forehead and waiting for the painkillers to do their work, when Doyle wandered out of the bedroom. He stretched and yawned, his arms and bare chest shifting tantalizingly with the movement. A pair of plaid cotton boxers rode low on his trim hips.

He gave her a warm, slumberous smile. “Good morning, Sunshine. How are you feeling?” His voice held a sexy, sleep-roughened quality that sent a shiver across her nerve-endings.

“Okay,” she answered, more shrilly than she intended.

He frowned. “Are you sure? You look a bit peaky. Does your head hurt?” He started forward. “I know an amazing massage technique…” He faltered.

Her eyes had gone wide, almost panicked, at his approach.

“Violet?” he asked in concern.

“Uh huh,” she squeaked, her muscles tightening as if in preparation to flee.

“Have I done something to upset you?”

“I…” her hand trembled slightly as she lowered her waterglass to the table, her eyes following it down. “I can’t remember what happened last night,” she mumbled, refusing to look at him.

Doyle made a sound suspiciously akin to a laugh. He closed the distance between them, his bare feet slapping against the wood floor, and lowered himself onto the empty wrought iron chair next to Violet. His knee brushed hers where her robe had fallen open, and she squeezed her eyes shut in mortification. But she didn’t pull away; she didn’t want to. And that was part of the problem.

Doyle took one of her hands and gently lifted her chin with the fingers of his other hand. “Violet, look at me.”

He was right. She was acting like a child. She forced herself to face him, feeling embarrassingly unsophisticated.

“Nothing happened.” His sea-green eyes were solemn, but mirth sparkled within their depths.

She bit her lip. “But, the bed, and I was kind of undressed…”

“Sweetheart, we were caught in a downpour on the way home, and you insisted on dancing in the rain,” he told her with an amused snort. “You were soaked. It was all I could do to get the wet clothes off you before you passed out.”

She pulled back from him, a comical expression of horror flitting across her face. “You undressed me?”

“I couldn’t let you sleep in a puddle of water! And it’s not as if it’s anything I haven’t seen before,” he pointed out, exasperated.

Violet’s eyebrows drew together dangerously and he knew he’d said the wrong thing. “You’ve never seen me before.”

“Violet, come on. It’s just like seeing you in a bikini,” he implored in a cautious attempt to backtrack.

“You’ve never seen me in a bikini,” she said stubbornly. “And that still doesn’t explain why we were in bed together.”

Doyle gaped at the way she’d turned the tables on him so quickly. An uncomfortable lump of guilt formed in his chest, leaving him unable to come up with a clever explanation for why he’d spent the night with her. In the same bed.

“I’m going to take a shower.” Her tone was flat as she rose and went back to the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Doyle groaned and dropped his head into his hands. He’d been the perfect gentleman. How had he ended up with her mad at him? Well, maybe he’d enjoyed undressing her a bit more than he should have. The thought of those lacy wisps of white surrounded by all that bare, creamy skin was enough to make his cock twitch even now. But he hadn’t touched her any more than necessary to get her out of her wet clothes and into bed.

And the fact that he’d crawled into bed with her…well, he hadn’t wanted to walk home in that storm. He’d thought about sleeping on the couch, but he didn’t know where the extra linens were kept. Okay, so the truth was that he’d wanted to be near Violet. But the bed was huge, and he’d kept to his side.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Violet closed her eyes and leaned against the inside of her parents’ bedroom door. What was wrong with her? She’d gotten drunk and Doyle had taken care of her. And she had turned it around and picked a fight with him. She should be relieved that he cared enough to make sure she got home safe, and was enough of a gentleman not to take advantage of her impaired judgment.

But the truth was, she was sober now and her judgment was still impaired. She’d only met him yesterday, and a part of her knew that she probably would have slept with him last night if he’d asked, liquor or no.

She headed into the bathroom to find both their clothes still wet, but draped neatly over the racks in the bathtub. She transferred them to the sink with a sigh, feeling a guilty comfort in the fact that he couldn’t leave without her apology. Not unless he wanted to walk home half naked anyway.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Doyle wondered what he should do. He didn’t want to leave, but he didn’t know if Violet wanted him to stay. Not to mention the fact that poor Bruno was probably crossing his hind legs by now. It was a beach community and no one would look at him twice for walking the streets in his boxers. And although he wasn’t supposed to, he could always use magic.

But he wanted to make things up with Violet. He stood and wandered listlessly over to the refrigerator. It was barren except for a couple of yogurt cups, an old jar of mustard, some bottled water, and a rather dodgy looking Tupperware container. The pantry was similarly vacant, revealing a patchwork of colorfully lined shelves. A coffee pot sat next to a toaster on the speckled corian countertop, but sadly, there were no beans to be found.

He headed past the bright, mismatched living room furniture and opened a door that he correctly guessed led into the garage, an idea taking shape. The space was dim and tidy, with an old Ford woody wagon parked in the midst of several stacks of boxes. Doyle slipped into the red vinyl driver’s seat, encouraged when the interior light flicked on, and he found the keys tucked above the visor.

He grinned at the pewter depiction of a sprite hanging from the rearview mirror as he turned the key in the ignition. The motor rumbled to life on the first try. He clicked the remote for the garage door, counting a silent two for two when it worked as well, and carefully backed the car out into the street. He should be back before Violet even noticed he was gone…

Violet finished brushing the tangles from her hair and stood over her suitcases, debating what to wear. She was feeling ridiculously nervous at the prospect of opening the door and facing Doyle again. She chose a snug black t-shirt, with a feminine ruffle at the sleeves, which molded nicely to her breasts and flattered her waist. Then she pulled on a pair of soft khaki lounging shorts and added some dangly earrings to liven up the outfit.

Her stomach fluttering, she opened the door. Her senses were immediately assailed by an amazing smell, and she quizzically made her way to the kitchen. There stood Doyle, in a fresh t-shirt and shorts, flipping what appeared to be a giant omelet in one pan, while bacon sizzled enthusiastically in another. As if that wasn’t wonderful enough, he was making coffee. And he’d brought sugar and cream.

She jumped as the toast popped up, and Doyle saw her as he turned to check it. He gave her a hangdog grin, and her face slowly stretched into an incredulous smile.

“I’m sorry,” they both said at the same time, and then laughed.

“No, listen, Doyle,” Violet said anxiously. “I really appreciate you getting me home safe and taking care of me last night. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I was just a little unnerved,” she felt her face grow warm and finished in a determined rush, “to find you in my bed and not remember how you got there.”

She looked so pretty standing there, a blush staining her freshly scrubbed cheeks, her raven hair gleaming beneath the soft kitchen lights. “It was my fault,” Doyle said automatically. “I should have slept on the couch.”

“No,” Violet denied, shaking her head. “You were fine. That bed is huge. I was just being priggish.”

Doyle grinned at her pronouncing herself a prude. “You are a prim and proper school teacher,” he joked. Her face started to fall into a scowl and he backtracked quickly, “I’m kidding. Your reaction was perfectly understandable. I shouldn’t have assumed it was okay to share the bed. And I promise you, I would never have taken advantage of you in such a state.”

The lines that had begun to form in her forehead smoothed away and he smiled in relief. But he couldn’t help teasing her just a bit more. “Other than that, though, was it really so terrible to wake up beside me,” he asked in a husky brogue.

Violet’s blush deepened and she didn’t answer. “Do you need any help with breakfast?” she asked, looking flustered.

Doyle jerked in surprise and hurried back to what was now sure to be extra crispy bacon and a browned omelet. That would teach him to discomfit his shy school teacher. “No, I’ve got it under control,” he replied with a grimace. “But I hope you like your breakfast well done.”

“It’s got to be better than the yogurt cups I’ve been eating for the past two days,” she said, grinning. “What’s in the omelet?”

“Tomato, mushroom, onion, and lots of cheddar,” he answered, taking it off the burner and splitting it in half with the spatula. He scooped one of the pieces onto a waiting plate, melted cheese bubbling and stretching out in long strings before separating.

“A man after my own heart,” Violet sighed. “I’ll set the table.”

Violet pulled out a couple of silky, tasseled placemats and matching cloth napkins, and lit the taper candle sitting at the center of the table’s mosaic swirl. In moments they were tucking into coffee and large plates of food.

“Mmf is really good!” she exclaimed around a mouthful of omelet.

Doyle smirked at her over his bacon. “You sound surprised.”

Her eyes crinkled with humor as she swallowed and took a scalding sip of coffee. “Not at all,” she denied. “I’m just not used to having guys cook for me.”

“No?” he teased. “Well, you’ve been hanging around the wrong sort, then. I always cook a woman breakfast after spending the night in bed with her.”

Violet snorted, refusing to touch that one. She did wonder, though, just how many other women had been treated to Doyle’s culinary talents. They ate in silence for a while, accompanied only by the clink of forks on ceramic plates and the faint twitter of birds from the garden.

Violet took a final bite and sat back with a sigh. “That was delicious. Thank you, Doyle. I must have been in the shower longer than I thought, for you to be able to go shopping and cook all that.”

“Actually, I borrowed your car,” Doyle admitted with a guilty twist of his lips. “I had to run home to walk my dog and get some dry clothes, so I just grabbed some stuff from my pantry while I was there. I only live a few blocks away. And I put the car right back where I found it. I hope that was okay.”

Violet looked surprised. “It’s fine. It was my parents’ car. But I love driving around in that old thing. I had a friend drop me off here because I’m planning on bringing it home with me.”

“I can see why.” Doyle grinned. “It’s a bit like riding in a time capsule. Not to mention that it’s probably built like a tank compared to most of the newer models.”

“Yeah.” Violet sighed. “My parents were old hippies at heart. It’ll be kind of like taking a piece of them with me. I’m getting rid of most everything else. Which reminds me, I should probably get back to packing,” she said regretfully.

“I’d like to help you, if you’ll let me,” Doyle offered. “I can clean, pack boxes, move stuff, whatever you need me to do.”

“Oh, Doyle. That’s very sweet of you, but you don’t have to do that. I’ve already kidnapped you for a night and finagled breakfast out of you. I’m sure you have other things to do today.”

“Nope,” Doyle disagreed bluntly. “It’s my day off, and I’d like nothing better than to spend it with you, whatever you’re doing.”

Violet’s heart fluttered at the statement. How could she say no to that? “Okay,” she conceded softly.

“Good.”

The air between them practically vibrated with electricity. With a word and a smile, he quickened her pulse and made her ache for his touch. Did he feel it too? Violet took a shuddering breath and attempted to keep her expression casual.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He leaned forward to brush a kiss across her forehead, and then briskly began clearing away their plates.

Violet’s heart skipped a beat, maybe two, and it was a moment before she remembered to inhale again. She had almost believed he would kiss her. Not that chaste peck he’d given her, but a real kiss, full on the lips, preferably with the use of his clever tongue.

She really needed to get a handle on herself. She debated the wisdom of taking another, much colder, shower before they spent the day cooped up in the villa together.

She sighed and rose to take over the cleanup. She felt bad leaving it to Doyle after he had cooked and then kindly offered to help her pack.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Doyle scrubbed furiously at a plate, silently applauding his self control. He ought to win a medal for restraining himself from tasting Violet’s delectable lips just now. He subjected a coffee mug to equally rough treatment, as he tortured himself with thoughts of where that kiss might have led, with that lovely king-sized bed beckoning from the other room.

No, he was here to help her pack up her parents’ things. And to make sure she didn’t go back in the ocean until the sprite found out why the merrow had attacked her. Nothing more. But he swore that with one more spark, the atmosphere between them would burst into flames. Could she not feel it? He was going to have to concentrate on baseball and his sister’s upcoming visit just to get through the day in such close quarters with Violet.

“Did that mug do something to piss you off?” Violet asked in startled amusement. Doyle was scouring the thing as if it had been dipped in toxic waste.

Doyle’s hands stilled beneath the stream of hot water and he gave Violet an abashed look. “Sorry, I guess I was daydreaming.”

“About what, dismembering someone?” Violet laughed as she pulled the immaculate mug from his grip and nudged him out of the way. “You cooked; I’ll clean.”

She took over, brooking no argument. He grinned at her back as she swayed between the sink and the dish rack, her movements graceful and efficient. His eye was drawn lower to the lush curve of her bottom, enticingly molded by the thin, soft material of her shorts.

He turned abruptly and made himself go check on his drying clothes.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Violet found she didn’t have to worry about cold showers after all. She put Doyle to work moving boxes out to the garage. Then she gave him the job of packing up the kitchen, the dishes and cookware and such, while she performed the more personal task of wrapping and boxing the various knickknacks and photos on display throughout the villa.

Doyle continued to transfer packed items into the garage and spent some time making new boxes out of flattened stacks of folded cardboard. When he had finished everything he could think to do on his own, he went in search of Violet again and found her in a small office, tucked away in the rear corner of the villa.

It was a neat jumble of bookshelves and filing cabinets. A computer desk faced a window that looked out onto the vibrant splashes of color tumbling across the backyard garden. Violet was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her mauve-painted toes peeking from beneath her knees, amidst scattered stacks of what appeared to be old mail.

“What next, boss?” he asked softly.

Her eyes lifted from the paper she was reading, blank and startled for a moment, before her face melted into a smile. She sat up and raised her arms in a back-popping stretch, groaning the stiffness away.

Doyle stifled his own groan at the way her shirt clung to the ripe fullness of her breasts.

“Sorry. I was just going through these credit card statements. Can you believe my parents were spending over $3000.00 a month on gas? I thought it was a mistake at first. After all, the woody can’t be that bad on gas mileage. But then I realized it must have been for their boat. I know that boats use a lot of fuel, and gas prices have almost doubled, but isn’t that a bit excessive?”

Doyle shrugged and picked his way past the litter of papers to drop into a creaking office chair. “It depends. Manny and I take the Ocean Magic out five days a week, to the reefs and back, up to five times a day. And you don’t even want to know how much we average per month on gas. Just suffice it to say that we go well over $3000.00 on a slow month. What kind of boat did your parents have?”

Violet’s lips curled in a little moue. “I don’t really know. It couldn’t have been very big though, maybe thirty feet? I think my dad said it had an ‘outboard motor’.”

Doyle snorted. “Either it had a fuel leak, or they must have been taking it out every day,” he replied, lifting one golden-brown eyebrow.

Violet shook her head as if trying to wrap it around the idea. “Well, they were retired. And they loved being out on the ocean. So I guess it’s not all that strange.”

She shrugged and added the statement to a pile she’d already been through. “You’re ready for your next assignment?” she asked with an impish grin.

Doyle gave her a sideways smile. “I don’t know. What’s my reward?”

Her rosy lips formed an ‘O’ of feigned shock. “I thought you were helping me out of the kindness of your heart.”

“I am.” His eyes sparkled with laughter. “But I thought kind deeds were meant to be rewarded.”

“Hmm,” she sounded, biting her lip thoughtfully. “What sort of reward were you expecting?”

Stark heat flared in his expression. “I hadn’t quite decided yet,” he said huskily.

She let out a soft chuckle and pointed to a bookshelf. “Well start packing up those books, would you, and let me know when you decide what you want.” She dropped her head and began reviewing her paperwork once more.

Doyle stared at the top of her head, a slow smile spreading across his face. His little school teacher was starting to flirt back. He went to retrieve some empty boxes for the books, trailing his fingertips lightly over her hair as he passed.

Violet hid her smile, a surge of exhilaration coursing through her. He’d made another of his flustering, charged comments, and she’d given it right back this time. Now there was just one enthralling problem…what would he expect for his reward?

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

There were four floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in the office. Doyle started on the one farthest from Violet so as not to disturb her paper piles. He glanced over its contents—all reference books, mostly consisting of a bulky old set of encyclopedias, which made for the heaviest work so far as he carried them back to the garage.

The next bookshelf contained a massive collection of dog-eared paperbacks, which were lighter once packed, but took longer to box up because there were more of them. They ranged from classic fiction, to romance, to mysteries, to true crime. He even noticed a few fantasy and horror titles mixed in.

Violet began transferring the papers on the floor into a corner filing cabinet, and Doyle moved to the opposite wall and the third bookshelf. These were all teaching tomes, ranging from books on education, to student textbooks and workbooks for assorted subjects and grades.

At last he reached the final, and most interesting, bookcase. His eyes traveled over multi-colored volumes of varying height and thickness. Some of the jackets were fashioned from cloth or hide as opposed to paper. A few of the titles had faded into illegibility, their spines so brittle they looked as if they might disintegrate on contact.

Here he noted an impressive range of mythology from different cultures throughout the world, alongside folktales, faerie tales, books on mysticism and witchcraft, and even spell grimoires. He opened a rather dusty volume on Celtic legends, with a green cloth cover stenciled in gold lettering, and grinned to find a surprisingly accurate chapter dedicated to his own people, the sidhe.

It was always a bit bizarre when he came across a true account of the faerie realm that the humans had relegated to the category of fiction. It hadn’t always been that way. Many years ago, before he was born, contact between the realms had been far more common. The humans had been more in tune with the earth and the ways of magic. They had believed.

But as the generations went on they had been taught to ignore his kind, and a veil had fallen over their eyes. As a result, many of the denizens of the faerie realm who could not pass for mortal creatures, such as the sprites, had become invisible to humans.

The Seelie Court, who worked to maintain the eternal balance between good and evil, had been forced to put measures in place to uphold the separation between the realms. They feared mass chaos would erupt if the humans were suddenly confronted with the fact that a realm of immortal beings coexisted alongside their own. Doyle understood, but he thought it was a shame.

The two realms had so much they could learn from each other.

“How do you expect to earn your reward if you keep slacking off?”

Violet’s teasing voice interrupted Doyle’s musings, and he realized he was staring into space, still holding the book on Celtic legends. He smiled to find her looking up at him from amidst a new stack of papers she had created on the floor.

“This is quite a collection your parents had,” he commented, indicating the shelf beside him. “They must have been real mythology buffs. And all these spell and witchcraft books. Were they Wiccan, by any chance?”

Violet snorted softly. “They were…eccentric. They had a lot of romantic notions about magic and alternate realities, and how cross-cultural similarities between myths and legends proved that they contained a core of truth. I swear they probably believed most of the stuff on that shelf was true.”

Doyle frowned at her, nettled by the dismissal in her tone. “It doesn’t seem all that farfetched to me,” he said, trying to sound casual.

Violet’s eyes widened and she smiled at him in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”

His frown deepened. “No, I’m not.”

“Oh, come on,” she insisted incredulously. “It’s a nice fantasy, but mystical creatures and magical worlds, existing right alongside our own, even though no one can see them. How does that work, exactly?”

She laughed as if expecting him to share in the joke.

But Doyle couldn’t seem to work up any humor. He told himself he should just concede her point and drop it. Something inside him, though, compelled him to argue with her.

“Do you honestly believe, then, that there is no mystery or magic left to be discovered in this world? That there is nothing out there beyond what you have the ability to see and comprehend?” he demanded in mounting agitation.

She gave him a bewildered look. “I’m sure there’s plenty left to be discovered—in the depths of the oceans and in remote jungles and definitely in outerspace. I just think that if there was really some invisible magical world all around us, someone would have caught onto it by now.”

Doyle was so exasperated he couldn’t speak. The urge to prove Violet wrong was like a live wire burning through his mind. He had to get away from her before he said something rash. He tossed the Celtic book back toward the bookcase and walked out of the office without another word.

Violet stared after him. What in the world was he so worked up about? Then it occurred to her that he had asked if her parents were Wiccan. Maybe he was Wiccan and she had just offended his religion. People could be really touchy about that sort of thing. She pushed herself to her feet, thinking she should probably go apologize.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Doyle retreated into the solitude of the bathroom and stood in front of the sink, palms pressed into the cool marble countertop, his reflection looking back at him from the mirror. He made an effort to loosen the frustrated tension tightening his shoulders.

It wasn’t Violet he was upset with so much as himself.

What had possessed him to needle her like that? He’d never had a problem keeping the existence of the faerie realm a secret from any of his other human friends, male or female. Why was he suddenly so eager to reveal himself to Violet? Whatever the reason, he needed to get over it.

He splashed some water on his face and, feeling more composed, exited back into the bedroom. Violet sat on the edge of the bed waiting for him, her feet crossed at the ankles and her hands clasped as if she was forcing them to remain still.

“Doyle?” she said apprehensively. “I’m really sorry if I offended you. I like you very much and I would never intentionally say anything to ridicule your beliefs. I don’t know what I would have done without all your help yesterday and today.”

The words were almost as sweet as the lips they had fallen from, and Doyle realized that once again he’d been a jackass. He strode forward to stand before her, trailing the backs of his fingers down her soft cheek.

“You did nothing wrong, Violet. I’m just tired and cranky and I was being argumentative. My blood sugar probably dropped too low and it addled my brain.”

“I forgot all about stopping for lunch,” she said apologetically. He had been thoughtful enough to make her breakfast, and she’d worked him all afternoon without feeding him. She grimaced as she thought about the empty fridge. “Do you want a yogurt cup to tide you over? I could get us some takeout.”

Doyle laughed, but the relief he expected to feel at her acceptance of his excuse was annoyingly absent. “No, thanks. I actually need to get home and take out my poor neglected dog.”

“Oh, right.” She tried not to sound as disappointed as she felt. But the slow caress of his fingers was addling her brain. “Um, do you want a ride?” she asked breathlessly.

“No. The walk’ll do me good. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, okay?”

Was there regret in his voice, or was it her imagination looking for reasons to ask him to stay? “Okay, then. Thanks again for all your help,” she managed.

Doyle told himself it was for the best. Her very presence wreaked havoc on his control. He needed to put some distance between them, and maybe tomorrow he’d be able to approach her with a fresh perspective.

But it took every ounce of willpower Doyle possessed to turn and walk out her door.